It seems that everytime I sit down to write I log on to some other site, mainly the NY Times and Craigslist, looking for a place to live. I’m annoying myself by doing this, and once you’ve annoyed yourself, you can’t really stoop much lower.

I’ve always been the one to make myself laugh, and this I’ve thought of as healthy. I can laugh at myself just as well as I can laugh at someone else who trips and falls and almost cracks their skull open on the corner of 14th St. and 1st Ave. That’s where I’ve seen my favorite apartment to date. Only my bid was just a little too low and I’m not really in a place where I can negotiate much higher. See how annoying I am, always making references to apartment hunting?!

If I can make myself laugh and annoy myself and I talk to myself anyway, do a really need anyone else in my life? .

My friends tell me I want to live in Brooklyn, but I think I know me and I know that I want to live in NYC. Yes, I’ll pay more, but not much, and yes, if anyone was to a city and completely destroy it, it would most likely be Manhattan, but these are risks and debts I am willing to incur. Can you incur a risk? I just want to make sure I’m being sort of grammatically correct. As long as its sort of right, I feel good.

My horoscopes all point to today as being one of the BEST days of my life. So far I’m not feeling it, but I am on the verge of a number of crazy new endeavors. I’ve been talking to Playgirl TV and things are looking up. I’ve been asked to write something for a book (I will know more details next week), and I’ve still got my book and play to write.

But, I have no place to live. And while all of this makes me happy, that one small detail in life makes me sad, nervous and slightly nauseous all at once.

Like one of those spinning rides that eventually last ten seconds too long, I’m ready to get off the apartment trip.